


west

by doitforthecarstairs



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M, Making Up, Post-Book 2: Chain of Iron, Songfic, Spoilers for Book 2: Chain of Iron, sleeping at last
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 22:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30028773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doitforthecarstairs/pseuds/doitforthecarstairs
Summary: Being in Paris on a mission brings some memories to Thomas' and Alastair's minds.Based off West by Sleeping at Last.POST-CHOI // CHAIN OF IRON SPOILERS
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs & Thomas Lightwood, Alastair Carstairs/Thomas Lightwood
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60
Collections: Atlas





	west

**Author's Note:**

> Because I can't wait a whole year for these idiots to hold each other~ y'all should listen to the song before reading this, the loose lyrics don't make that much sense in this context 😭

**_“Maps stretched out, too many miles to count_ **

_**Let's just say we're inches apart, and even closer at heart** _

_**And we'll be just fine”** _

It was a cold night in Paris, and Thomas felt the weather deep inside his bones.

Ever since their shared moments in the sanctuary about a few weeks ago, he couldn’t take Alastair Carstairs out of his head. It’s not like he could before, but something about the way his face lit up as they kissed and the way he laughed as Thomas made a mess of himself—

He had always thought of Alastair as beautiful. He had a jawline as sharp as his tongue and his eyes were of the darkest shade of brown; Thomas didn’t understand how anyone could think of him as anything less than stunning. But it wasn’t until their first kiss that Thomas realized how breathtakingly pretty he was. Lovely, even. _Flawless._

Thomas’ hand instinctively went to his compass rose tattoo. He traced the delicate lines, thinking about their stolen glances since that day. It hurt, knowing what was like to touch him and having to stay away, always six feet apart. 

Somehow, Alastair was even more distant and untouchable than he was before, and Thomas had no one but himself to blame.

Walking towards the balcony of his room at the Institute, Thomas admired the wonder that was Paris. City of lights, it was called, and rightfully so. The streetlights and the moon gave the streets an ethereal beauty, but Thomas’ hazel eyes stared up at the sky. The dark, infinite, and starless sky couldn’t help but remind the man of his lover’s hair. _Well, not lover._ He blushed at the thought.

He hated knowing that Alastair was only a few rooms away and being unable to go there. They were there on a mission, and that was all. They would try to fix whatever mess Charles had made and hopefully convince Cordelia and Matthew to come home with them, and that would be it. There would be no more Paris for them.

Thomas remembered something his sister Eugenia had said before he left. _“Don’t be stupid, Tommy. Your life is yours to live. I know you love your friends, I do too, but if you keep letting them dictate your life, then you’ll be wasting it.”_

His feelings for Alastair have been an unspoken reality between the siblings for some time. Eugenia knew his heart better than most people, Thomas supposed, but her tea parties with Alastair and their friends did little to help his case.

Thomas remembered what it was like to walk along the Seine river with Alastair, his piano-player fingers tracing his forearm. The man’s soft laugh echoed in his ears, and Thomas made a decision.

He didn’t bother to grab his coat as he stormed out of the room, only to open the door and find Alastair Carstairs standing on the other side.

_**“Time moves slow when half of your heart has yet to come home** _

_**Every minute's adding up, and leaving a mark on us”** _

Alastair knew he shouldn’t be there, about to knock on Thomas’ door. But Alastair’s feet lead him to Thomas as a compass would lead him north, which he judged ridiculously fitting.

Their time in the sanctuary still lingered upon his skin. Smiling against Thomas’ mouth and having the man’s fingers running through his black hair had felt like a blessing and a curse. Talking to him about anything and everything and knowing that he was the reason Thomas was blushing was both a sin and a wonder. 

Alastair had always considered himself a decisive person, but touching Thomas Lightwood had felt like heaven and had burned like hell.

Once she heard about what had happened between them, Kamala had looked at him as if she could read his soul. Perhaps she could; Alastair had never had friends before her to be sure. _“You’re not unhealthy, not for him and not for anyone. Allow yourself to be happy, Alastair. If that means staying away from Thomas for now- well, I’m always here if you wish to speak ill of him.”_

Alastair had shrugged the offer off, but pacing around his room to avoid looking through the window, he wished he had accepted it. _Damn you, Thomas,_ he thought, not for the first time that night. 

He couldn’t look at the Eiffel Tower without remembering the way he and Thomas had stared up at it, their hands so close they almost touched. Couldn’t look at the dark waters of the Seine without remembering what it was like to walk along it besides Thomas, talking for what seemed like hours. 

Paris was full of memories. He hated to admit it, having traveled around all his life, but the city has been one of the few places that he got attached to.

First, it was because of Charles. Everywhere Alastair looked, there was the ghost of a stolen kiss and a forbidden touch. Thomas’ words in the Sanctuary echoed in his ears: _you were always my secret._ But secrecy had haunted him for too long; Alastair wouldn’t let anyone be ashamed of him any longer.

In a different lighting, though, the city of love seemed worthy of its title. Paris was the home of artists, of outcasts, of his naïve young self. Remembering the simple request he had made an eternity ago, Alastair wondered if it could ever be his current self’s home again.

Perhaps that was why his legs brought him here. Thomas felt much more like home than any city ever could. Alastair was about to knock on his door with one goal in mind: talking to him. 

But as Thomas opened the door, his sleeves rolled up and his light brown hair a mess, Alastair had to find every bit of self-control he was no longer sure he had not to kiss him.

Three weeks. Not enough time so that the memory of Thomas’ lips against his own would stop burning in his mind, but long enough that all he wanted was more. _What is wrong with me?_

_Love,_ Eugenia had teased him. He had rolled his eyes. But she was right, of course, and the idea terrified him. 

“Alastair,” Thomas let out the breath he was holding. They had come to Paris together. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard his voice before. But something about the obvious relief in it now made Alastair’s heart twitch in his chest. 

“Thomas,” his voice was carefully steady. “May I come in?” 

Thomas’ face lit up in a way that made the weather outside feel worlds away. He swallowed hard — _don’t_ _look at his Adam’s apple_ — before inviting Alastair in.

_**“I can't get you out of my mind** _

_**I solemnly swear, I swear that I'll never try”** _

“Would you-” Thomas cleared his throat. “Would you like some water?”

He wasn’t sure why he had said that. He felt like a thirteen-year-old boy again, face bright red at the thought of spending time with Alastair Carstairs. The man’s dark eyes scanned the room, finally going back to Thomas. 

“No.” His voice revealed nothing, but Thomas knew him well enough to notice his hands were trembling. 

Thomas cursed himself for thinking about his hands, for it reminded him of the soft way in which they had cupped his face in the sanctuary. He looked away as he finally realized; _I am alone_ _with Alastair Carstairs,_ and for the first time since that day.

Alastair stepped closer, interrupting his thoughts. Closer and closer, until their feet were almost touching. 

“I left Charles because I did not wish to be his secret,” he said, his voice low. Alastair had always been straightforward, but Thomas didn’t know what to make of it now. “I want to believe you’re different from him. More than anything, I meant it when I said I did not wish to stay in the way of you and your friends. So if you want me to stop talking, I will gladly leave.”

Thomas was too surprised to answer, but Alastair must have seen something in his face because he kept going. “If we were to be together, would I be a secret for you to keep from everyone? If you do have feelings for me for as long as you claim, is that something you’re ashamed or simply scared of?”

The answer came to Thomas’ brain before he could even process it. “Neither,” and it was true. “I could never be ashamed of you, Alastair. And though I was afraid before, I- you deserve someone who will be proud of you.”

Alastair’s eyes were wide open. There were more emotions on his face than Thomas had ever seen, and he slowly wrapped his arms around his waist, giving him enough space to step away. He didn’t, and Thomas smiled. 

“And I am proud of you. I will try my best to be the person you deserve me to be.” His heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest. “Once we’re back in London, I want you to meet my parents properly. As my partner, that is.”

Thomas supposed that this was the closest Alastair would ever look to speechlessness. _Was that a good or a bad sign?_ Suddenly filled with doubt, he stumbled over his words, “I mean, only if you wa-”

“Shut up,” Alastair’s eyes gleamed as he stood on his tiptoes. The emotions in his voice startled Thomas for a moment before he realized the man was smiling. 

Thomas leaned in until their foreheads touched. Something rose in his chest, something familiar and new and ever-lasting. They stayed like that for what seemed forever. Alastair buried his head in the man’s neck, but Thomas could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “We still have to discuss this.”

“And we will. Tomorrow,” he held Alastair tighter. “You could go back to your room, or you could spend the night here.”

Alastair pulled away with a questioning look. Thomas blushed, listening to himself.

“Nothing like that needs to happen yet,” he sputtered out. “Or ever, if you don’t-”

“Not yet,” Alastair saved him from embarrassing himself. His expression was playful, but there was something softer hidden in his eyes. Or maybe it wasn’t hidden, and Thomas just wasn’t able to look at him properly before. He kissed his forehead, hiding his face in Alastair’s starless hair.

They stayed in Thomas’ room that night, their legs tangled and their bodies warm. There would be much to discuss the next morning, but now it was just them, holding each other tight. 

He kissed Alastair’s neck with no second intentions, but delicately, all of his feelings poured in a simple gesture. Alastair sighed. He traced his compass rose tattoo, curling himself further into Thomas’ chest. He felt warm.

Thomas needed him to know how precious he was, and he hoped he’d have all the time in the world to show him.

_**“We'll be just fine, we'll be just fine** _

_**It's a matter of time 'til our compass stands still** _

_**'Til our compass stands still”** _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr under the same name!


End file.
